


An Unobstructed View

by mycapeisplaid



Series: Seasonal Fare [6]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Blow Jobs, Engagement, Grand Gestures, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:01:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28722528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mycapeisplaid/pseuds/mycapeisplaid
Summary: James Flint proposes.
Relationships: Captain Flint | James McGraw/John Silver
Series: Seasonal Fare [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1898464
Comments: 23
Kudos: 35





	An Unobstructed View

**Author's Note:**

> Twelve degrees F is about -11 C

It was winter in Michigan. To be more specific, it was winter in New Providence, which was north of the forty-fifth parallel and directly on Lake Michigan, so it was subject to all sorts of nasty weather. 

Their first Christmas together was snowy and rather magical; Flint decided he liked decorating, and he and Silver cut down their own tree and adorned it with little more than strung popcorn and cranberry garlands. They didn’t have any ornaments to put on it, save for a mitten-shaped thing with a heart nestled on top of the pinky finger that one of Silver’s clients had given him, some horrible, tacky fish that Flint had found at Ralph’s grocery store and brought home as a joke, and a clam shell. 

This shell was no ordinary shell, however; it had been Silver’s gift to him, the shell that Flint had given him as an apology earlier that summer, after their trip to Beaver Island. Silver had kept it, treasured it, and then, very carefully, drilled a hole in the top, threaded a cord through it. Flint had opened it, curiously unfolding tissue paper. He picked it up and his eyes promptly filled with tears. 

“Sorry it’s not much of a…” Silver had begun, but couldn’t finish as Flint had kissed him hard and held him close. Silver could have bought him the goddamn moon and it wouldn’t have meant as much. He caught himself staring at it in the evenings, which made Silver blush.

Holiday magic didn’t last for long up north, however, and by the time January crept into its last week, everyone was already tired of being cold.

A colder-than-average winter meant that the lake effect snow machine was in full force, and Flint and Silver, now owners of a two-man snow removal service, had plenty of work if they wanted it. Flint found it amusing how, even though they didn’t have a webpage or any advertising whatsoever, they never lacked for customers; Silver had that way about him. He must have charmed enough locals during backrub season. 

Silver seemed to actually like plowing snow; he’d bought a newer truck, seemed quite fond of its winter outfitting. He named the plow “Bertha” and Flint wondered if he had need to be jealous, as highly as Silver spoke of her.

Flint, on the other hand, decided he absolutely hated snowplowing, and that after this season, if they stayed in Michigan for the winters, he was old enough where he could say he was retired and sit around on his ass all day, reading, cooking, and ice fishing. Silver could plow as much snow as he wanted, as long as he came home and plowed Flint in the evenings.

Flint hadn’t ice fished in years. One day while Silver was off learning to snowboard, having finished his book and tidied the house and rode the exercise bike, he drove into Traverse City and came back with a small pop-up ice shanty. It was on the way back from this trip that an idea formed in his mind. 

Flint had never felt the need for grand gestures of affection, but he certainly did enjoy a good bit of dramatic flair. Usually this was achieved through sarcastic one-liners, vicious insults, backhanded compliments -- for his enemies, of course. He had an entirely different theatrical repertoire in bed. And he had been known to improvise excellent love confessions and heartfelt expressions of intimate secrets.

There was something he’d been planning on doing for a while, though, that he hadn’t quite seemed to make come to fruition. He was listening to the weather on NPR, though, when inspiration struck, and he knew exactly how he was going to propose to John Silver.

***

Lake Nassau was frozen solid, and had been for weeks. As soon as the ice was stable enough for the crazies, ice shanties began popping up here and there, and by the time Flint deemed the ice safe, there were already a dozen of them up, camped out like medieval kings on a field. Ice fishing was primarily done by men, escaping household duties or their wives, content to sit in a tiny shack away from everyone, drink Hot Damn liquor from a flask, listen to the radio, and fall asleep sitting up while perhaps a fish could come along and bite at whatever you sent dangling down into the frigid depths. 

Flint had always enjoyed it; the solitude, perhaps. He’d done it with a few buddies growing up, never feeling himself one of the gang, but there was something he liked about it. He’d always loved the water, and this was just another extension of it. It was still water, even if it was frozen a foot thick. (Thomas had always laughed, arguing that there was nothing _less gay_ than ice fishing, “I wouldn’t say that,” Flint had said. “Couple of guys, stuck in a small tent, one lonely, open hole between them…” And Thomas had groaned and made innuendo about fishing rods. “Don’t stereotype,” Flint admonished. “There are queer outdoorsmen… outdoors-people.” And there were, although Flint had yet to find one of them. They must be there, though. Just because you might not have caught a fish that day didn’t mean they weren’t there. What did guys _do_ at deer camp anyway?)

Silver didn’t notice that one more shanty had joined the makeshift village, although some of the local old men did, driving by on their snowmobiles to inspect the newcomer as if it were a suspicious package and not the property of the only man who lived on the east side of the lake. Old Ralph at the grocery store informed him that with the shanty in its current spot, Flint would catch nothing, and that he’d best move it closer to where the rest of the guys had theirs, and of course he was welcome to drop by, play some cards, have a drink. Silver may have made friends with everyone and anyone in town, but Flint would be keeping his ice shanty as isolated as he could, thank you very much. 

Two days later, while Silver was out plowing, Flint prepared. The wind died down, the skies cleared, the temperature continued to drop into the lower teens. A quick check on a meteorologist webpage told him everything he needed to know. Tonight was the night.

***

“Hey. Hey, Captain. Have you heard anything I’ve said?”

“Of course,” lied Flint, who had, in fact, not heard a damn thing because his stomach was trying its very best to turn itself inside out. He had barely eaten. What good would any of this be if he got stuck with a case of nervous diarrhea during the critical moment? He wasn’t supposed to be nervous, anyway. He’d trained that feeling out of himself decades ago. It was just a question, one he already knew the answer to, and for godssake, James, get a grip. 

“No you haven’t.”

“I have. You were saying that you were on the thing…”

“...the half pipe…”

“...the half pipe, and you didn’t fall once.”

“Not once,” Silver confirmed, proudly. Muldoon had been teaching him how to snowboard. Flint was not surprised to learn that Silver used to skateboard back when he had two legs, and apparently, snowboarding was similar. But snowier, of course. There was also the issue of Silver’s leg. As it turned out, there was an active online community of BKA surfers, skaters, and snowboarders, and soon Silver was enthusiastically video chatting with them. Flint had gotten him a Go Pro for Christmas, and Silver had become a bit of a Youtube junkie the past two weeks. Flint could see it now: by this time next year, he’d have multiple social media accounts and post selfies. He also realized that this did not bother him one iota. Silver looked good in pictures.

“Good for you,” he said. 

“I’d like to show you,” said Silver, suddenly shy. “I mean, if you’d like to stop by some day.”

Flint would love to see Silver snowboard. He liked seeing him in his element, the way he so easily adapted to new things as if he’d always done them. Even if he goofed, he’d bullshit his way out of it and look good doing it. Flint could see it now: Silver doing tricks on the snowboard, impressing the onlookers, and he’d just have to lean back, arms crossed, and tell everyone that talented, handsome man was his boyfriend -- or, hopefully, fiance. “You just like it when I grab your ass in front of Muldoon,” he said. 

Silver laughed. “I might. You’re hot when you’re possessive.”

Flint considered, frowning to himself. “I don’t want to be possessive, though. I mean, you’re your own man. I don’t own you. I learned long ago that tight leashes usually have the opposite effect.”

“I know that,” Silver said, rolling his eyes. It was something Flint said more than he probably needed to. “But...I find something comforting in...being yours. I’ve never been anyone’s anything before.”

Flint’s stomach did another flippity-flop. 

“Want to tell me why you're so distracted? Did you talk to Miranda today?”

“No, I.” Flint fussed with the knee of his jeans, where a hole was forming. He looked up. “There’s something I’d like to show you.”

Silver instantly looked suspicious. “Oh shit. Did I leave hair in the shower again?” Silver’s hair had been a point of contention as of late; it got wrapped around Flint’s fancy bars of soap, and Flint had finally had it when he had to extricate Silver’s hair from the crack of his ass --rather painfully, he might add-- after his shower. Then he felt bad about it because he did, in fact, adore Silver’s hair, and found it to be one of his most attractive features. 

Flint laughed. “No. It’s nothing…” he was going to say important, but it was very important, so he settled on “critical of you.”

“Oh. Good.”

“But it’s going to sound very strange, and so you’ll have to trust me.”

Silver slung his arm over the back of the sofa. “Oh really. I’m intrigued.”

“It involves a blindfold.”

Silver raised an eyebrow. “Kinky.”

“But it’s not a sex thing.”

Now the eyebrows came together. “When were you planning on showing me this… mysterious thing.”

“Right now.”

“Oh. Can’t I...just close my eyes?”

“Nope. It involves...relocating. And, um, getting dressed. We’re going outside.”

“Outside? Now?” Silver reached for his phone. “It’s eleven. And it’s cold as fuck out there.”

“I know.”

“Right now? Can’t it wait until morning?”

“No. It has to be right now.”

Silver looked at him curiously for a moment, then reached for his crutch. “Should I put on Betsy?”

“If you want. You don’t have to.”

“What about the _long johns_?” 

The way he said it made Flint crack up every time. “Quit calling them that. And if you don’t want your legs to freeze, yes. Layer up.”

“Hm. I have to admit I have no fucking idea what you’re up to.”

Flint tried not to smile too hard. He’d give it all away.

***

“You’re joking,” said Silver.

“I am not.”

“Seriously.”

“Yes!”

“When you asked me to trust you, I wasn’t expecting...this.”

Silver was sitting, stiffly under all his winter gear, in a sled. Not a children’s sled, but one of those heavy-duty numbers that ice fishermen used to haul their gear out onto a frozen lake. He wasn’t wearing a blindfold, but he’d pulled his hat down over his eyes and his scarf up over his mouth and nose. He looked like The Invisible Man. Flint had carefully helped him out of the house, as he preferred to leave his leg off for the night.

“You’re going to pull me in a sled.”

“Yup.”

“I’m having a problem figuring out how I feel about this.”

Flint smiled, even though Silver couldn’t see him. “I’d imagine you’re feeling indignant, wary, intrigued, and rather foolish.”

“Yes, quite.”

“I know. Just. Trust me.”

“That, I do,” he said. “Sometimes against my better judgement.”

“You won’t peek?”

“No.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. Onward, Captain!” He raised a gloved hand in Flint’s direction. “Giddyup! Mush!”

“Oh God, no,” said Flint, laughing. 

It was so cold that the air instantly froze the interior of his nostrils, but even here, where it was wooded, Flint could see above his head what he had hoped to.

He picked up the tow rope, and pulled Silver around the house and in a loop in the driveway just to disorient him a bit, before heading out onto the ice. It was hard work; Silver might not be the largest guy, but lugging deadweight wasn’t easy, especially with his shoulder. Despite the arctic air, he was sweating by the time he finally got them out of the shanty.

“Can I look now?” asked Silver when they’d stopped.

“No. Um, not yet. Hang on.” 

Using a flashlight, he unzipped the shanty and lit the kerosene heat lamp. The little flame illuminated the small space. There was no plastic carton to sit on here, no auger, rod, lures, or holes in the ice. Instead, he’d managed to stuff in two inflatable lounge rafts they used on the lake in the summer. On top of these he’d spread a sleeping bag. It wasn’t large enough for them to sleep in, or even lie down properly, but it would be comfortable enough for warming up. He’d considered stashing some condoms and lube, but quickly dismissed the notion. There would be no fucking in an ice shanty. Fucking outside was an impossibility. Could you even get an erection in that kind of cold? He doubted it.

When he came back out, Silver was still sitting there, a man in a little black boat among a sea of white. And above him -- yes, above him. _This_ is what Flint wanted him to see.

“I’m on the ice, aren’t I?” asked Silver. 

“You trust me, right?”

Silver sighed, resigned. “Yes.”

“You are. But the ice is over a foot thick. You could drive a car on it. You could drive a semi on it. You’re in zero danger. But I knew it may make you uneasy, hence, you’re essentially in a boat.”

“Okay.”

“Now next to you I’ve spread out a blanket. It’s not going to keep you warm, but it’s better than lying flat on the ice. Do you feel comfortable getting out of there?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Don’t open your eyes yet.”

Silver clambered out of the sled with Flint’s help, and together they lay down flat.

“This is so weird,” said Silver.

“Keep them closed.” Flint sat up, plucked his gloves off long enough to slip the hat back from Silver’s eyes. Then he lay back down. “Okay,” he said. “Open them.”

Silver did. Or at least Flint thought he did. He actually counted to sixty before turning to check, since Silver had said nothing whatsoever. He was expecting a gasp, or an exclamation of some kind.

“Well?” prompted Flint. “What do you think?”

Silver sat up, looked all around himself, back at the sky, at Flint, then back at the sky again, before lying back down. For the first time ever, Flint saw John Silver completely speechless. Silver turned to him, the most peculiar expression on his face.

“It’s the Milky Way,” he explained. “I figured you’d probably never seen the night sky like this before. Not many people in populated areas have. Light pollution renders it invisible, and the snow is reflective, which makes it even harder. But the moon’s not up yet, and, well. There it is.”

Silver looked at him, at the sky, at him, and at the sky again. “Huh. I thought… I’d seen pictures, but I thought...it looks like the sky is...torn? Jesus, I was questioning my own sanity for a moment. That looks like...clouds.”

“Cosmic dust, more like. It’s the core of the galaxy.”

“Holy shit.”

“Could you imagine what it would have been like to see this every night? Be out on the ocean in a boat, this above you?”

“It’s amazing. But...why way out here?”

“I wanted to give you an unobstructed view of it. It’s better out here; no trees to get in the way.”

“And this” -- he nodded toward the shanty -- “this is yours?”

“Yeah. I figured I’d take up ice fishing.”

“No offense, but it sounds horribly boring.”

“It is. In the good way.”

“And cold.”

“It’s not so bad. I’ve got a heater in there.”

“That won’t melt the ice?”

“God no. Are you cold?”

“Not horribly. I still can’t believe what I’m looking at. It’s surreal.”

The ice groaned under them, causing Silver to sit up straight. “The fuck is that?” he asked.

“Just the ice. It does that. Expansion, contraction. It’s fine. Completely normal.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Do you want a drink? I snuck a flask out here earlier. It’s really bad medical advice to drink to warm up, but we won’t be out here long.”

“What’d you bring?”

“Brandy.”

“Huh. Sure. I’ll have a sip.”

Flint hauled himself up and retrieved the flask from inside the shanty, taking a swig himself to steel his nerves, When he came back out, Silver was flat on his back again.

“I’m a tiny man on a tiny rock in a tiny galaxy in one gigantic universe. You know, there’s this picture, that Hubble took, right? And it’s this picture that, magnified, shows _hundreds_ of galaxies all within just a square inch of space. Thousands, maybe. Galaxies. Millions of them. Billions of them. It makes you wonder, you know? About your life. About its purpose. Why you’re even here.”

“I guess I wondered that for a long time, too,” said Flint, handing the flask over and watching Silver sip from it. 

“And you don’t now?”

“No.

“Why not?”

“I suppose my view before was...obstructed. By anger, by grief. It’s like being on shore, back there, and looking up, versus out here.”

“Huh. And what did you see, then?”

Flint’s stomach did one final somersault, and, with resolve, he pulled off his gloves and reached under his scarf and coat collar to fumble with the chain. He released the clasp as best he could with shaking fingers, and then reached into his shirt for the ring that he’d strung on it for safekeeping. He held it in his hands, heard Silver sit up next to him. 

“You,” he said. “I saw you.”

It was dark, but a billion pinpricks of light and the milk-glass whiteness of the ice gave enough light for Flint to see Silver clearly, just his eyes visible underneath layers of wool. Flint’s breath puffed before him, freezing as soon as it left his lungs. “I told you I was going to ask you one day,” he said, his voice wavering as he toyed with the ring. 

“Holy shit,” said Silver, his eyes growing wide. “Wait, are you…”

“And if it’s too much too soon, just say so, and I’ll…”

“No! I mean, keep going. Yes, yes to everything, just. Oh my God. You’re. Really?”

Flint managed to smile, and reached for Silver’s hand. He pulled off his glove and then kissed his knuckles with cold lips. 

“John Silver,” he said, pulling the ring off its chain. “I’d like to be your husband, if you’ll have me, and for you to be mine. I’m asking if you’ll marry me.”

Silver pulled the scarf down off his face, and Flint got to watch his mouth wobble between a smile and tears as he fitted the ring onto his finger. 

“You gave me the stars,” Silver whispered, and pulled their faces together.

It was too cold to kiss for long, their lips cold and their tears freezing on their faces, but they managed it anyway, and when they pulled apart, Flint was delighted to see what he’d hoped to see.

“John?” he whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Look over there.”

Silver did, and as if on cue, a ephemeral curtain of opalescent green light cascaded down from the sky, writhing and twisting as sinuously as an exotic dancer’s scarves, a shimmering curtain blown in on solar wind.

“The aurora,” said Flint. “I was listening to the news and they said there was a high probability. There was a massive solar flare two days ago. I was hoping we’d be able to see it this far south.”

“Oh my God,” said Silver, awed. “That’s...it’s…it looks like something out of a fantasy movie. It’s so beautiful.”

The colors flared, greens and purples, lighting up the sky and reflecting off the ice.

“Wow. You know, it seems like it should make a sound.”

Flint considered. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. A siren song, maybe? A whisper? Angel choirs? Let me tell you, I’ve heard these recordings of sounds from space, and they’re creepy as fuck.”

“It’s not really sounds, you know. It’s radio waves, and they convert them to sound. I’ve heard those, too. And you’re right. They’re horrifying.”

“These should make a nice sound,” thought Silver. “Something soothing. Like rain on a roof. Or that barely-a-sound-noise it makes when it snows.”

“Or waves against the hull.”

“Sure. I wonder how many times they’ve been right over my head and I just couldn’t see them. Or everyone who’s sleeping right now, clueless. This is the perfect spot to see them, too. Nothing in the way to block the view.”

They sat there, watching, as the cosmos put on a spectacular show, the colors swirling, pulsating, waxing in intensity and then waning again.

Flint fidgeted with his glove. “You never did say yes, you know.”

“Do I need to?”

“I wouldn’t mind hearing it,” said Flint, suddenly needing the confirmation.

Silver arranged himself so they were face-to-face, their brandy-scented breath puffing out in front of them, mingling and then freezing. “You really want to marry me?”

Flint had to fight hard not to roll his eyes or say _I wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t,_ but he knew what Silver needed to hear. “Yes,” he said. “I do. I want to see that ring on your finger. I want to wear a nice fucking suit and kiss you in front of an audience. I want to introduce you as my husband and look smug when other people realise you’re mine. I want to put your name on the deed of our house.” 

For a moment Flint thought Silver was going to make a joke, but he didn’t. It must be hard for him; the first time he was in this situation it had gone so horribly wrong. Madi’s rejection had been emotionally scarring for Silver, and even though he said he was fine now, Flint knew that betrayal was probably the longest wound to close.

“You’re a hopeless romantic, you know.”

“I’ve been told.”

“Who would have thought? God, I remember the first time I saw you. You stepped on my plants. Everyone was scared of you, told me to stay away, not to piss you off. Look at you know.”

“Look at _you_ now,” Flint countered. “You’re sitting on a frozen lake. You wouldn’t even drive over the bridge when I met you.”

“I think we are the very model of personal growth. Ask me again?”

“Be my husband, John. As my friend, as my lover. My mind to yours, my soul to yours, my body to yours.”

“God I could listen to that all day,” said Silver. “Yes. Yes, yes, yes. Yes please. Wow.”

Silver leaned in and kissed him again, half-smiling, their lips too numb to really feel anything.

“Your teeth are chattering. Do you want to go back in?.”

“You warmed up the shanty, right? We can just go warm up there, a sec, and come back out. I want to see this. It’s not every day the sky does this. You know, if I didn’t know better, you talked the heavens themselves into performing just so you could have a spectacle for a memorable proposal.”

“Who knows?” quipped Flint. “Maybe I did.”

Flint helped Silver into the shanty, which had become warm enough for them to shed their coats, hats, and scarves. Silver sat on the makeshift bed and held his hand close to the warming lantern. “Tell me about this ring,” he said, admiring it. “Is it one of yours?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

“From a shipwreck?”

“Well,” said Flint, smirking, “let me tell you about a Spaniard named Vasquez.” 

***

It might have been the happiest moment of Silver’s life. No, correct that; it _was_ the happiest moment of Silver’s life. He was laughing, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes as Flint told him an unbelievable story of how he’d stolen a real gold doubloon, some invaluable treasure from a eighteenth-century famous shipwreck, from “some asshole in Florida who deserved it”. The thing about not reporting found treasure was that you couldn’t really do anything about it if you lost it. Flint assured Silver that the guy “had it coming to him” and he felt great vindication of the fact that he’d robbed him of tens of thousands of dollars, and then did the unthinkable: he had it melted down, rendering it worth nothing more than its weight in gold.

“So I’m wearing your vengeance as an engagement ring,” Silver laughed.

“Yup. I’ve kept it hidden for ages now, just sitting in that drawer. I didn’t even plan on it being a ring for someone else to wear. God, you should have seen how it pained Rackham to melt the thing. He was quite sure I’d lost my marbles.”

“I think maybe you have.”

“No, I haven’t. I don’t need the money. Museums have plenty of them. There’s more to find, if you’re exceedingly lucky. He was a bigoted politician and he insulted me, and it was, frankly, just too easy to take it off his hands.”

“I’m marrying a pirate.”

“A no-good pirate.”

“A very good pirate,” countered Silver.

“Indeed, you can’t prove a thing. In fact, I could have just made all that up, and that ring could have come from a chain retailer.”

“But it didn’t, did it?”

Flint smiled. “No. It didn’t.”

Silver twisted the ring on his finger again, held it out to see the gold shine in the light of the lantern. 

“Pirates took husbands, you know,” said Flint. 

“Really? I thought that was a myth. You know, sailors and men…”

“I mean, it’s a common stereotype, but there are a lot of gay sailors. My stint in the Navy was really the first time I didn’t feel completely alone, in that regard.”

“I’ve never seen you in uniform.”

“You never will. I got rid of the Navy and Coast Guard stuff long ago. After...all that with Thomas’ father.”

“I understand.” Silver laughed. “But I can imagine. You had to be clean-shaven, didn’t you?”

Flint rubbed his beard, which was in the process of regrowing since he’d shaved it in early December. It hadn’t reached the soft length yet, and it left Silver’s skin abraded. Flint felt awful about it, and Silver wore it like a badge of honor. HIs own facial hair was returning, but at a much slower rate. He spent three weeks just looking like he had a dirty upper lip. Flint, of course, looked fantastic. In fact, Silver found he looked irresistible, fucking sexy even in the winter gear. He’d taken off his coat, and then his hat and scarf as the shanty warmed up. He was wearing this henley that was unbuttoned just enough for Silver to see his chest hair. Flint really was a menace. A sexy-pirate-husband-material menace.

“Yup,” said Flint. “Clean cut for our military.”

“You know,” said Silver, “it’s actually rather warm in here. I can see where ice fishing wouldn’t be that awful.”

“Thomas used to give me shit about it,” said Flint, remembering. “He said there was nothing less gay than ice fishing.”

Silver laughed. “Well, he might be right about that. This ice shanty is lacking in queerness.”

“What, do you want me to stick a rainbow flag on top of it? Everyone already knows it’s mine.”

“I mean, you could. I was thinking, though, that we could increase the queerness of this ice shanty by insuring queer things went on inside it.” He quirked an eyebrow at Flint, who didn’t seem to be getting the message.

“Oh God, Silver, no. You can’t… fuck in an ice shanty.”

Flint should have kept his mouth shut. There was one sure-fire way to motivate Silver to try something, and that was being told that he shouldn’t, or couldn’t. “Why not?”

“Look around you! It’s literally twenty-five square feet.”

“So? The tent wasn’t much bigger. We fucked in the tent. We _roleplayed_ in the tent.”

“It’s twelve degrees outside.”

“Not in here. It’s toasty.”

Flint looked around. “I didn’t bring anything.”

Silver raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“It’s just... not done.”

“I betcha guys jerk off in these all the time. Sneak away, beat off to some dirty magazine? That’s what I was led to believe. It’s not about fishing at all. It’s about a little personal time with the trouser trout.”

Flint groaned.

“You know,” continued Silver, “You have an awful lot of excuses for a man who just got engaged.”

“We’ll go back in.”

Flint looked at him, imploring. Silver decided it was time he tested out a new dynamic in their relationship. 

“Your eyebrows aren’t going to work on me right now,” said Silver. “I don’t want to go in. I want to stay out here and watch the northern lights some more. And right now, I’m going to suck you off, right here, in this ice shanty. You are going to take your cock out and I’m going to make you see stars, unless you’d like to try to go out there, and see the real ones. Either way works for me, although I’d prefer not to freeze to death while I’m doing it.”

Flint blinked at him, as if he were trying to parse out something in a foreign language. His mouth worked, his eyebrows furrowed, and he started to say something, twice, and stopped himself. 

Silver sat up straighter, stared him down. “I mean now, Captain,” he said, and meant it.

Silver watched, delighted, as that shock melted into arousal. For a solid moment, Silver was sure he’d crossed a line and Flint was going to demure again, and if he did, Silver would have dropped it. But Flint’s lip did this thing, this little sneer that terrified others when was angry but that was also an indicator of whether he was pleased in bed, and Silver took it as a sign he should proceed; indeed, Flint’s fingers went to his fly.

“Don’t take it all off,” said Silver, indicating the entirety of winter gear Flint was still wearing: his heavy boots, snow pants, jeans, the thermal underwear underneath. “Stand up. Get all that around your thighs.”

“I’ll barely be able to balance,” Flint groused, but did it anyway.

“Now you know how I feel. Come on, let me see it. Lift your shirt up a little.”

Flint did, and Silver had the most delightful view of Flint’s cock in the lantern-light. It should have looked ridiculous -- a man standing there, partially dressed in winter gear, his most vulnerable of parts exposed to the air. Silver didn’t intend for it to be exposed for long. He had to kneel in order to reach, but the inflatable kept his knees from making contact with the hard, cold ice. “Mm,” said Silver, appreciatively. “Now that’s more like it.” There was nothing quite as appetizing as Flint’s cock, which was well on its way to full hardness.

“I ask you to marry me and you very quickly become authoritative.”

“Oh, you’ve been waiting for it. I just had to learn how. I had an excellent tutor. You always know what you want, and how to ask for it. You’ve given me so much. You’re so generous with your love. I want to be generous, too. I have to learn to ask for what I want, too. And right now, I want nothing more than do to this, to suck your cock in an ice shanty in the middle of a frozen lake under the fucking aurora. You want to give me what I want, don’t you?”

Flint swallowed. “Yeah.” His voice was already rough.

Silver almost laughed to himself how easy it was. The funny thing was, it was all true. “Good,” he said. “We’re agreed. Come on, then. Give it here.”

Silver heard Flint groan as he took him in mouth, felt his hands come up to pet his hair. 

“I can’t move like this,” said Flint.

“I know,” said Silver, pulling off. “You’re not meant to. I’m going to do all the work. You’re meant to stand there and see how long you can last. Hang onto me if you need to.” 

“Oh my God,” breathed Flint, and Silver, for the first time in his life as someone’s fiance, gave the very best blowjob he could. Flint, for his part, could do very little but stand there. Soon, his legs were shaking, those fabulous thighs trapped in layers of fabric, working to hold him steady. There was nothing for him to grab on to, save Silver himself -- there was a pole above his head but Silver imagined grabbing onto that would bring the entire thing down on top of them both. He kind of wished he were outside, so Flint could look up, see the core of the Milky Way spiraling out above his head as he got closer to orgasm, let the entire galaxy see him stripped bare of that hard man he showed everyone else -- but it really was too cold out there for this sort of activity. Plus, it was for Silver’s eyes only. The universe would just have to be content with simply knowing and not seeing that under this nylon structure, James Flint was getting serviced by his future groom.

Inside the little shanty, though, it was plenty warm, and Silver even began to feel a bit sweaty as he worked, bobbing his head, taking Flint’s cock as deep as he could before pulling back and sucking, licking the slit, massaging the frenulum with the flat of his tongue. Unable to speak, he moaned his contentment, how much he loved doing this, how much he adored the taste of Flint’s skin and the scent of him here.

For his part, Flint was as quiet as he ever got. If he got loud in bed, he liked to tell Silver what to do, how to please him best, or he’d break out into lyrical prose, lavishing Silver with praise. He did neither now, too overcome with emotion or just made mute by the physical exertion of remaining upright. They were so used to having sex naked, being able to touch all of each other, hands roaming over skin, gripping shoulders and buttcheeks and thighs, lips nibbling collarbones and earlobes and cheekbones. This coupling was unusual in that the only two parts of their bodies that were really touching skin-to-skin was Flint’s cock and Silver’s mouth. Silver was trying very hard, too not to get spit everywhere -- it wouldn’t do to have saliva freezing on Flint’s balls. 

“Oh, John,” Flint groaned above him, “I can’t…”

 _Oh yes you can,_ thought Silver, and took Flint deep as he reached around to spread his asscheeks, to press against his hole. It was an awkward position, but it worked.

Flint gasped, his backside clenching against Silver’s fingers as he thrust weakly with his hips, unable to move any more without toppling over. “Oh,” he said, over and over, until it became “yes,” again and again, growing louder until he sucked in a great lungful of air and held it. 

Silver pulled back just enough for Flint to spill over his tongue. He held Flint in his mouth until he was done, letting the taste register, before swallowing. He’d never tire of it. Never.

Flint’s knees did buckle then, and Silver managed to get them both into a sitting position on their makeshift lounge. Flint’s eyes were closed, and he was still breathing heavily, his arms thrown over his head, his three layers of pants still around his thighs, his spent cock starting to soften. Silver was overcome with fondness, and when Flint beckoned him toward his head for a kiss, he went with such love in his heart, kissed Flint’s mouth gently, tenderly. He was hard and aching, but it would wait.

“That was...amazing,” said Flint. “You are so good at that.”

“It’s an excellent thing you’re marrying me, then,” said Silver, kissing Flint lightly on the nose. 

“Your turn?”

“Nah. I’m saving myself for marriage.”

Flint snorted. “Come on.”

“I don’t think so,” Silver continued, “there’s no room in this thing. I’ve only one leg, and it’s really fucking cold outside. I have it on good authority that ice shanties are just not the proper place for queer activities, like blowjobs, or, you know, ass eating. Or fucking, or mutual masturbation. Or even kissing. Hand holding? Out of the question. Pretty sure that’s just not done. I’ll wait until we get back to shore, thank you.”

“You shit,” said Flint, affectionately, drawing Silver to him. “God, I love you.”

Silver smiled and let himself be held for a moment. “Are you warmed up enough?”

“Yeah. Feeling rather overheated, actually.”

“Let’s go watch the sky for a while longer,” said Silver, sitting up. “Then you can pull me back inside and we’ll cozy up under the covers. Or sit in the hot tub. That would work.”

“Are you tired? It’s awfully late.” Flint tucked himself back into his layers and donned his coat.

“Nope. Not even remotely. I just got engaged! I’m high on life! I’ve got to call Max.”

Flint chuckled, and together they fully redressed in all their gear and then dragged their makeshift bed outside. They lay back down to stare at the sky, which was still going in its own joyful display.

Yes, thought Silver, Flint was right. This was the perfect place to stargaze, and it afforded him another unobstructed view: this one, of their future. He, John Silver, engaged to James Flint! Joy bubbled up in his chest and he laughed, delighted. Flint turned to him, and they kissed, all cold noses and lips.

The sky above threw its own form of rice or confetti, the green shimmer of the aurora arcing over head, filling the entire sky, complimenting them on a match well-made.

**Author's Note:**

> January in MI can be horrible or...not, depending on the year. We barely have any snow right now. When I was in college in the 90s, the snow was routinely up to my knees by January. Up north, it gets even snowier, especially close to the Great Lakes. 
> 
> I have seen the aurora several times. The best viewing I had was in a corn field in 1997 or so. Drove out in the middle in February (friend had a big truck) and we lay there and watch it. Freaky, actually. 
> 
> The fishing hole joke is courtesy of QueerCrusader. 
> 
> Subscribe to the series to be notified as I continue to add little seasonal delights!


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